Jungle savagery, otherwise known as nepotism, cronyism, fascism, tryanny, totalitarianism, authoritarianism, absolutism, satanism, socialism, communism, tribalism and cannibalism, is based on jungle law which is, on pain of death, unconditional obedience to the absolute authority of the jungle savage with the power of life and death over all. I would guess we are witnessing a metamorphosis of Mr. Kilbey the poet.

A cat has nine lives, each one for the paths they crossed that did not turn out to be eventful, or just plain dreadful. It would be so hard to gage the amount you still posses as I replay some of your history in my head. There was that deed, oh…who can forget those moments…self-discovery or inner depletion. I don’t know my friend. It is hard for me to predict or even count the lives you have at your disposal. You have lived for thousands of years…traveled to far away galaxies and back before tea…tasted the fruit of your lushous labor, and the bitterness of tragedies turn sour. I do know this, if I was a cat, out there amongst the wild and untamed, I still would have found you… along with so many of us all, and if possible…gave you some of my lives that I would still have left…as long as I can hold on to this one for a wee bit longer…

There’s Shiva smacking the meal down on the table in front of us! damn straight! Love the rawness of it. Love the reality of it. Love the deep capacity for self refection that simply roars out of this poem. Love the metaphors you use. The pain and passion….the honestly….and the humility. What a mirror of humanity!! So fucking real. I love it. I think I am a better human being now…. and I need some meat, too! Thanks for just being YOU, Steve. You are a complexity of Joy. thank-you…

lol Lara, that reminded me that i wrote a poem about Gore Vidal named Chimera!!! thankyou…i shall have to dig it up… i love these lines in the poem…
‘sky is let loose from the land
and the moon has escaped the sun’

and
‘in the calm of an imaginary velocity’ (just glorious)

i dunno, you could drop the ‘shadow’ in there..unless you wish to explain it, ..i recently dropped green after using verdant in a poem…i thought, bugger it, if my readers don’t know they can look it up!..but its describing a bit of the shadow..THAT was a stroke of genius!

I read your blogs now & then Steve and (maybe stating the bleedin’ obvious) you seem to be in quite a lot of pain & turmoil. I really hope you find your way to a more comfortable/peaceful place. Hope that doesn’t sound patronising, I’ve endured my fair share of pain & turmoil. God works for me but I know not everybody’s cup of tea,

that was me by the way…on the shadow thing..i dunno…i feel that sometimes we spoon feed them too much…i think a perfect peice of prose is one that also sounds melodic, succinct and of course intelligent.

Imaginator, creator, originator, heavenly music maker – great stuff. Enjoyed “glimpse of a dream” as well. Listened to Seance as well as Untitled number #23 today pure heaven both albums. There are some real gems on Untitled number #23. I love that Seance is on vinyl. There’s nothing like putting a record on. Especially when it is a Church record.

I wonder whether one of your true strengths is that you are essentially an honest man
it may make you capable of writing, saying and doing things that hurt and alienate
it may also mean you are a little too trusting
to be much good at trusting
perhaps its even why you seem as prone to self love
as you are to self loathing
but, combined with your gifts of words and imagination,
it lets you render your life in a way that leaves the ordinary details intact
and just bring to life the stuff that is truly important
good or bad
magically

he had no idea where he’d go
just a safari in his heart, so I’m told
steam away on that towering white star line
to some exotic land seen only on film
not a fleeting possession to his name
just the leather on his Manifest back
buffalo busting rifle and ammo in tow
a change of complimentary clothes
a few coins and bills packed hastily in
like a child gazing through the salty spray
where the fish sleep ten fathoms deep
sunrise as an orange in his eye
wind as medicinal liquor to his soul
flee two faced religion, tradition scattered and torn
heritage of a lone traveler not known or begun
have mercy and compassion unto him and all
as they traverse the invisible path
to be a hunter or be hunted
that’s that…

hmm my mini panthers very tiny in my pic : if you use a microscope its a pic of my cat I drew/tried to paint..anyway

I loved all the insightful eloquent replies to sk’s poem & just wanted to apologise for saying you need more rice milk In your panther saucer.
you dont put your picture up so I can say your collar bones too pronounced I type speak without thinking sometimes & I bet you dont give a flying fuck but I needed to say it.

Karen – If I had a dollar for everytime I hit “send” on a comment and then was filled with immense regret for something that now seemed obviously arrogant, or pretentious, or whatever…Don’t feel bad-you are in good company.

Wrote this today before I read this newest blog sublime…I may live in triteville at the moment, but real estate is cheap these days…you should teach, SK…but then again, you already do.

EXTRA

This isn’t a movie, after all
Sliding down the grey freeway
Landscaped stone (immaculate), shaded coral and mauve
The morning has given the valley a halo of pink sky
Blessed with beauty for perhaps an hour
Blue mountains in the near distance
Perfect triangular peaks, as if drawn by a child
Not a movie, but my eyes film the scene
Scored by whatever’s on the radio
Keep moving
We’re rolling, take one, take everything in
Pay attention to the road, I tell myself
This isn’t a movie.
My mind clicks inexplicably on him
The classic montage runs by my eyes
Ghosts creep across the road ahead
His text from yesterday, no calls anymore
He’ll be gone soon, to Singapore, and maybe forever
He was perfect for me
If not perfect to me
I can already feel the emptiness
The visceral silent scream has already begun
And sometimes I get dizzy
Sounds like a good opportunity, I text back
I will not allow my neediness to impinge on destiny
Neediness disgusts me
Letting it go is like putting down a heavy weight
When the muscles have reaching exhaustion
The rush of blood, the shortness of breath
And the eventual euphoria of the unencumbered
This isn’t a movie, after all
And if it was, I would only be an extra
In a passing car, in a single met glance
Perhaps a whistle when I’m looking nice
I have no lines, you see
No real part to play.